


Forty Winks

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [543]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, rarepairathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:34:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: thebaconsandwichofregret askedrare pair, the rarest pair! Scott and a good night's sleep!





	Forty Winks

Scott had plumped the pillows, remade the sheets taut to his liking, drawn the blinds, and even had taken a long bath with only a mug of cocoa for company.  He’d changed into his fluffiest pajamas and read precisely one chapter of his book before turning off the light and snuggling down.

This was going to be the highlight of his trip – all the stressful, stupid board meeting business was dealt with, there was nothing but reports of a calm night from TB5, and right now he had the entire hotel suite to himself to get a full eight hours.

If he skipped breakfast downstairs, he might even stretch that to ten. Scott exhaled out happily, cosy and warm and at peace. At peace….at peace. 

His long slow breathes grew shallow.  Wincing, Scott cracked open one eye.  Above him, the hotel fire sensor’s ready light flashed green.  One, two, three, another flash.  One two three - flash.

Growling, Scott threw back the covers and stood up unsteadily on the mattress.  A quick check told him the device was built into the ceiling, no easily removable battery, fully in compliance with the latest standards as it sniffed the air for any hazards.

Scott stomped over to his case.  It was an professional byproduct that he always traveled with duct tape, but three short lengths obscured the detector completely.  Satisfied, Scott nodded and knee-bombed down onto the mattress, yanking the fluffy covers back over him with a sigh.

He was almost asleep with the faint clicking sound registered in his consciousness. Scott snarled under his breath and, keeping his eyes closed, threw back the covers.  

He clipped his shins against a low table before his ears triangulated the sound to the small minibar fridge tucked into a cabinet.  The ticking of the compressor was even more audible as Scott opened the cabinet, and the little light inside the fridge itself made Scott hiss with its brightness.  A few seconds of feeling through the dust bunnies behind the cabinet yielded the power cord, which Scott yanked maliciously.  The clicking died with the door light, and Scott stomped back to bed.

His head had barely hit the pillow when he heard a thump.  Then another thump. Then another.  Scott propped himself up on his elbows and stared in horror at the wall behind his bed.

On the other side, another guest found their stroke, the thumps settling out into a rhythm that sped up as Scott shoved his head under a pillow and muttered a word that would get his mouth washed out with soap at home.

He was just starting to consider setting up his own metaphorical drum solo when, through the wall, someone shrieked and the thumps died away.  Scott gave a short, mocking round of applause and tried to re-arrange his scattered bedding.

He lay back at last, eyes wide in the darkness, trying to slow his breathing and his heart to sleeping levels.  Above him, a darker patch of darkness reminded him of the duct tape on the ceiling.

Sealing the fire detector in.  The new model fire detectors.  The ones that sniff the air and raise the alarm over any changes to the atmosphere.  Like the smell of adhesives from a coffin of duct tape.

Scott flinched as a siren blared and the emergency lights started flashing. Grabbing up a pillow, Scott screamed into the feathers. His head was still being smothered as his room phone rang and the knocking started on the door.

By the time he’d sorted it all out, promising the manager to whatever extra he wanted to put on the bill to cover the false alarm, it had gone midnight.  Scott shucked off his robe and star-fished back onto the bed, determined to get at least a good six hours.

Above him, the green light flashed, mockingly.

Scott swore loudly and gathered up the covers to go sleep on the suite’s couch.


End file.
